My beautiful newborn baby, Una, gurgled, blinking at me with her big blue eyes as I carefully placed her in the tub for her first bath. But while it should have been a magical moment between mum and baby, I couldn’t stop tears of grief streaming down my cheeks.
Because in a flash, I was taken back to a time when, as a young girl, I’d help my mum, Helen, bathe my baby sister, Mollie. And then, more horrifying memories came screaming back. Mum and Mollie covered in blood, my little sister, just nine years old, taking her last breaths – the victim of a savage murder by the man she called Daddy.
When Mollie was born in March 1996, I adored her. ‘Can she be my baby?’ I begged…